Summary: Origins: Wolverine era. Logan gets to the island to save the mutants and have his revenge before they are able to turn Wade into Weapon XI. But where can he go now? A certain Professor might be willing to help out the former mercenary. The only question is, is Wade willing to give up his previous lifestyle? Make new friends, possibly fall in love?

A/N: I dont know...we'll see where I take this story. Heh. This first chapter is more of a Prologue from Wade's point of view to bring you up to speed. It will take off in the next chapter I promise. And it wont be written in POV format. Enjoy.

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A general Psychology class in college teaches you about things like panic disorders and having panic attacks. It’s said when someone with a panic disorder is having a panic attack, they get a sense of ‘impending doom’. They feel like they’re going to die, even though they know they’re having a panic attack, the same one they’ve had over and over again. Yet they still get them, and they still feel like they’re going to die. Tossing all logic out the window and forgetting the word even exists in the English dictionary.

Exactly the sort of mumbo jumbo that I never paid attention too. Hell, I don’t even remember how much school I completed. All I knew was, much like the freaks with anxiety disorders, I was undergoing my own impending doom. But this wasn’t a panic attack…and I was definitely going to die. The only question was, when?

Death was something that never left my skull. It was part of the world I lived in, part of the air I breathed in. The oxygen and carbon dioxide that made up the atmosphere was all wrought with death. It didn’t bother me, not even a little bit. Why would it? I love death. I killed people for a living for god sakes, how could I not? But that’s a whole other issue. The death I’m talking about now isn’t anyone else’s but my own. Of which I’m not exactly too thrilled over.

The first visible symptoms didn’t start showing until about six months after Logan left the team. I’d always known there was something wrong, something going on inside me. At the time I felt indestructible. Nothing was going to touch me. Nothing was going to kill me, or, no one was going to kill me to be precise. How ironic that it would be a something to take me down. Of course I didn’t know I had cancer. Who the fuck can knowingly say they have cancer before the symptoms actually show? No one. But that didn’t matter. I most certainly had it, and from then on, the lifestyle I’d grown to love fell to pieces, much like the team did.

As the members slowly left, one by one, it felt as if I was getting worse. I didn’t honestly give a damn about these men. And, to their credit, I’m sure they didn’t give a damn about me. With good reason. I’d made sure of that. Things were always easier that way. ..and more fun too.

When it drizzled down to just me and Victor, it was obvious we weren’t going to be able to continue our work as quickly or as efficiently as we had done before. It had also become quite obvious that I was sick. The headaches and weight loss were things that I could deal with myself. Nothing too distracting or noticeable. But when my skin turned pale and my fatigue became too much Stryker wouldn’t shut up about it. Funny, how it was the only point in my life I didn’t want to talk. But he pushed and pushed.

The day finally came where I couldn’t even defend myself, much less stand up. It was easy for Stryker and his pet to overtake me then. Trying to tell Victor and William to fuck off when I could hardly grip the swords in my hands was no easy thing to do. It was even harder when they took them from me and dragged me off to have me tested. Even if I wanted to tell them I was sick there was no way to know how or what. Didn’t take much for them to find out.

‘Cancer’ was all they deemed worthy to tell me before laying out the options of my life before me. Obviously something I didn’t take too well. Me being the optimistic, open person I am…

It was like selling your soul to the devil. Not something I’ve had the pleasure of doing just yet, but I could definitely feel a sense of ‘impending doom’ when I gave Stryker the OK. I felt more like a guinea pig than a cancer patient as they injected me countless times with specs of Victor’s DNA. This was the ‘healing factor’ that would supposedly help my cancer. But it did nothing.

I guess you could say they got tired of fucking with me. That, or, I was just some other ingredient to whatever sick ass soup Stryker had been cooking up for the past year. Of course I’d wondered what the hell he was up to. But I wasn’t going to question the psychopath if it would jeopardize my happiness. And being a mercenary made me very happy. Can’t say that I’ve experienced that feeling in a good while.

So now I sit in a prison cell where all the inmates have been brought here by me. Luckily we’re each given our own ‘room’s with a beautiful locking mechanisms on each door. I can hear their curses and I can feel their glares. But I don’t care. All that matters right now is the horrible feeling radiating in my body as I lay here waiting…rotting. Of all the things I was most certain, it was that the cancer was killing me a little too quickly. Quicker than the expectant rate Stryker had expected to receive some of Logan’s DNA to try and inject me with. At this point I knew he wasn’t trying to ‘save’ me for the sole purpose of not letting a soldier or former comrade die. He had something much bigger planned. I wasn’t so sure if I’d ever live to see it. There was no telling where Logan was at this point and he most certainly wasn’t going to help Colonel with his little science project.

Least of all, me.